


His Father's Son

by sunnyautumnmorning



Category: Assassin's Creed III - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:25:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyautumnmorning/pseuds/sunnyautumnmorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratonhnhaké:ton / Connor struggles with what he has done and what he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Father's Son

Ratonhnhaké:ton walked away deeper into the forest, listening to the sounds of the birds that flitted from branch to branch above his head; their chattering distracting him for only the briefest of moments from what he struggled with.

He breathed in the cool air and closed his eyes. His heart hammered loudly in his chest and he bade it to be calm.  
As his heart rate returned to normal, he expanded his breath and opened his eyes to look around the forest that surrounded the Davenport Homestead.

The beauty that saw before him was not necessarily lost to him; it was that he was struggling with what he would do now.

He had buried the amulet, where he was sure, none would find it. He had wanted to bury the memories of what had happened as well, but he knew that those would stay with him, forever. And in a way, perhaps that was where they should remain, as reminders to him of what had been at stake, of that he had lost, of what little he had gained, if that had been even possible to gain anything from his experiences.

He paused momentarily, thinking back to his father, meeting the man that had a hand in his creation and then of his father’s death, and of those who had died believing in their cause, thus igniting a deep fury within all.

His heart was empty now, except for the ache, of what would never be and he was weary from the journey that he had set out upon, so long ago it now seemed.

Where he had been once a young boy, playing and hunting, carefree in his home and the surrounding woods, he now stood as a man. Deeply stained and forever changed from what might have been a different life, if that which had come to pass, had not.  
Now as he stood, as the man he was, he knew he must find a way to live with what he knew, with what he had done.

He recalled as the young boy seeing his mother die and the fire that had destroyed his home and later killing Charles Lee, believing that it was he who killed his mother. When he discovered that it had not been Charles Lee’s hand that had taken his mother’s life, but that of George Washington, who he had protected from assassination by the Templars, he had felt the pain of betrayal by those who had helped.

He thought about the men he had pursued, each and every one of them, seeking vengeance for the crimes they had committed; but most of all, he recalled the blade that he plunged into his father, forever ending the chance of becoming family or something that might have resembled that, or even a friendship.

He remembered the injustices he had met, as he traversed the landscape known as the Thirteen Colonies. He remembered the people that sought freedom, but only finding oppression and bonds that would enslave them. Though the British were gone, what he had seen at the harbor had solidified in his mind that the bonds of oppression were still held tight in the hands of those that saw men of a different race as slaves.

He had fought for freedom for all, not only the few.

He wondered if what he had fought for would ever come to fruition, but he now had a deeper sense of understanding that one’s ideals, no matter how good they may seem in the beginning, can become twisted and marred along the way. That eventually one would take upon themselves ideals that could only mean the dissolution of the founding principles that Ratonhnhaké:ton had believed in.  
But he was only one man and his voice was but a whisper above all the others. It would take more than he to change the course of history.

What that meant, he was not entirely sure of, but as surely as he had been the one to plunge the dagger into his father, he had crossed that line into the world that his father had surely walked.

Innocence was lost and Ratonhnhaké:ton now felt that weight hang about his shoulders and rest heavily on his soul.

He wondered if he too would become like his father, lose his way and succumb to anger, hatred and misguided beliefs.

He was not sure of what lay ahead, the future was enshrouded in doubt, yet he was still hopeful for what eventually lay before him. He had to be for if he gave up hope, then what was there?

He hoped that he could find some resemblance of peace, but he doubted that he would ever be completely free from what it was that had stained his soul.

That was the price of freedom he had learned. And, he was after all, his father’s son.

He removed the journal he had found, among his father’s effects and sat down and read to the end the words written there.

When Ratonhnhaké:ton finished, he raised his head and found his cheeks were wet. He wiped at them, and stared at the wetness on his fingertips.

Tears he cried, cried for the man that he had not known. For the man that had created him, and for the man that all of this time, had not lied to him. He _had_ told Ratonhnhaké:ton the truth, the truth that _he_ had seen, that _he_ had known.  
Ratonhnhaké:ton felt now _he_ had come to understand his father in some way and why he had chosen the life he had. He had been led by lies most of his life and he felt, that in spite of that, he could not change, or perhaps he had not wanted to.  
There had been some resemblance of respect, admiration and even maybe some fondness, on Haytham’s behalf, towards his son and now from Ratonhnhaké:ton he felt the stirrings of same feelings towards his father.

Haytham had wanted Ratonhnhaké:ton to read his journal and to know that he, in it, had laid bare the truths about himself.

Ratonhnhaké:ton let the journal fall from his hand, as he looked up to the stars that now shone above him;  
his heart, in some way now, finding some closure, some peace.

He stood and bowed his head then spoke the words he was sure he owed the man and now could freely offer.

“Father, I am sorry.”

After all, he was his father's son.


End file.
